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Chapter 29: A Spark In The Waiting
🕑 Added 2025-05-14 15:18:06 +0000 UTC[Emirates Stadium, London]
Sitting on the bench with the cheers of the Arsenal faithful echoing behind him, Kai didn't appear the least tense.
Strangely enough, the nerves that had plagued him before entering the stadium seemed to have melted away.
The bench was arranged in two rows, with most players occupying the back. Henry sat furthest down, ready to be called upon at any moment.
Kai was right next to him.
"Nervous?"
Back at the Emirates, Henry was in high spirits. Maybe it was nostalgia, or maybe just the energy of matchday, but he felt like chatting.
Kai shook his head. "Not really. I'm not some rookie who's never stepped on a pitch before."
Henry chuckled. "Still, the Portuguese league isn't quite the same as the Premier League."
Kai shrugged. "Just more intensity and tougher duels. As for the home fans—" he glanced at the stands, "—if you're not playing, they hardly care."
The last time Kai had been here, the crowd was fired up because Arsenal were finally showing signs of recovery.
Today, the Emirates has returned to its infamous library mode.
He had to admit, the home crowd could be eerily quiet at times—except for the big matches.
Sometimes he wondered if these people were here to watch a football match or a film.
Henry laughed at Kai's blunt comment, gave his shoulder a light slap, and said, "They don't want to be quiet, trust me. They just need someone to light a spark."
Kai raised an eyebrow. "Are you talking about yourself?"
Henry shook his head. "Not anymore. Well, not unless it's under special circumstances. It used to be Vieira's job. And now—"
He turned to look at Kai. "Who knows?"
Kai didn't reply. He simply turned his eyes toward the opposite stands, taking it all in.
A legend.
Henry wasn't just a football icon—he was a cultural one, even a figure in World Football's popular football column.
Up in the stands, Zheng Xin finally found his seat. The buzz around Henry's return had drawn a crowd; even getting in was a hassle.
He was seated in the upper tier of the South Stand, a perfect vantage point for watching the match, without the glare of the sun.
Settling into his spot, he glanced left and noticed a family of three—two adults and a child.
The kid was dressed in a full Arsenal kit, his face painted with the club crest, and was gleefully blowing a little horn.
Next to him, a middle-aged man in a cowboy hat was grumbling about the price of tickets. "Charging this much for a C-tier seat? Absolute daylight robbery."
Zheng Xin couldn't help but agree.
Arsenal matches were categorized into A, B, and C levels.
A-tier games were the blockbusters—Champions League knockouts, top-tier league clashes, and, of course, matches against Spurs.
B-tier covered the usual Premier League fare and Champions League group games.
C-tier? That was for FA Cup ties and early-round domestic matches against unknown lower-league teams.
Each category came with a different price, but today's FA Cup match had A-level pricing. Outrageous.
Probably trying to cash in on Henry's appearance, Zheng Xin thought.
Next to him, a hefty woman had her hands clasped in front of her, murmuring what seemed like a prayer.
Ignoring her, Zheng Xin pulled out his laptop and opened a website to check the squad list.
And there it was—Kai's name.
"No. 4?" he murmured, rubbing his eyes in disbelief.
Arsenal's legendary No. 4 jersey was now being worn by this young man?
It didn't make sense.
Not that Zheng Xin doubted Kai's talent, but that number was sacred. It wasn't the kind of number you just handed out.
Had there been a system error?
As he pondered, a small voice piped up beside him.
"Do you know Le?"
Zheng Xin turned to find the child with the horn looking at him with wide, expectant eyes.
He hesitated, then pointed to Kai's picture on the screen. "You mean him?"
"Yeah! That's Lucky! Our little lucky star!" the boy said with a grin.
Zheng Xin laughed and gently corrected him. "It's pronounced 'yue.' It means joy. His name's Kai."
"So you're a fan too?" the boy asked eagerly.
"You could say that. I came just to see him play."
The boy clapped his hands with excitement, spun around to show the No. 4 on his back, and beamed. "I'm his first fan! He signed this jersey!"
Zheng Xin's eyes widened as he leaned in to inspect the autograph.
Sure enough, it was written in Chinese.
Sensing his curiosity, the boy explained, "It's not for sale or anything. My dad had the jersey printed, and I asked Kai to sign it this morning."
"It's his first autograph!" the boy said proudly.
"So you know him?" Zheng Xin asked, genuinely interested.
The boy was about to answer when a man—presumably his father—cut in.
"All right, Kevin, don't bother the man," he said, shooting Zheng Xin a cautious glance.
Zheng Xin caught the subtle suspicion in the man's eyes and smiled wryly.
Thankfully, the conversation ended there as the game was about to begin.
Elsewhere, in the FA Cup commentary booth in the East…
Zhan Jun, now back in China and working with Sina Sports, had taken his usual seat alongside Zhang Lu to call the match.
"We're watching the teams line up now. Arsenal are starting with Chamakh and Arshavin up front. Van Persie's not even in the squad today—probably being given a much-needed rest," Zhan Jun noted, turning to Zhang Lu.
Zhang Lu chuckled. "He deserves it. With Arsenal struggling, Van Persie has carried them almost single-handedly into fifth place. He's been working too hard."
"Indeed," said Zhan Jun. "Van Persie's been worthy of that captain's armband. Of course, our focus today is on Arsenal legend Thierry Henry, currently sitting on the bench. Hopefully we'll see him play."
Zhang Lu nodded. "It's likely. FA Cup game against Leeds United—Wenger might want to give him a few minutes to acknowledge the fans."
Just as he said that, the broadcast cut to the bench—and there sat Henry.
The commentators continued casually until Zhan Jun's eyes caught something unusual.
A young Asian face next to Henry.
Not Park Chu-young or Ryo Miyaichi.
Was there another Asian player in the squad?
Zhang Lu noticed too, and exchanged a glance with Zhan Jun.
Zhan Jun discreetly pulled up the English matchday squad on his screen.
And then he saw it:
Arsenal No. 4, Midfielder, Kai (China)
This explained why Per Mertesacker was wearing the No. 2 jersey
From the information in the book, it looks like he arrived quietly from Sporting CP for a cool 800,000 euros in the summer. And the reason he has flown under the radar was because Arsenal has been working on his labour permit.
Even a seasoned veteran like Zhan Jun was momentarily stunned.
During the commentary, he nudged the player list toward Zhang Lu.
Zhang Lu squinted, then visibly stiffened, bending forward to double-check. He wiped his eyes in disbelief and looked at Zhan Jun.
Zhan Jun, ever the professional, shrugged slightly. I didn't know either.
Zhang Lu passed the sheet to the director for confirmation.
Moments later, information about Kai was brought to their desk.
...
Meanwhile, the match had begun.
Kickoff
Arsenal took the initiative right away.
Arsenal looked like a pack of hungry wolves, pressing Leeds like there is no tomorrow.
The English commentator: "The Gunners are coming out hot, pressing forward immediately. It looks like they're eager to make a statement. Arteta's trying to slow things down, hoping his teammates can regain a bit of composure."
Chamakh, finally handed a starting role, was itching to score.
But it wasn't just the forwards.
When Arteta dropped deep for a return pass, Alexander Song suddenly surged forward, bypassing a Leeds player and charging ahead.
The move caught Leeds off guard, even forcing Arsenal to join the attack.
Players scrambled to push forward and support him.
Song's sudden burst completely disrupted the rhythm.
Arteta had to retreat.
Kai, sitting on the bench, looked slightly baffled.
Was this what Arsenal midfielders were like?
For a moment, Song seemed possessed.
No concern for covering space, no thought of defensive balance—just attack.
Kai glanced toward the sideline.
There stood the Professor, spotting a little frown.
